


theirs

by civillove



Series: plans wrapped in rubber bands [4]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, Possessive Rio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18611305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: Anon on tumblr requested: “I would love you to write a jealous Rio fic!”--The guy licks his lips and sticks his hands in his pockets, his body closer to her own than she realized before. His hand moves to lean against the table and brushes along her hip, “Can I buy you another drink?”She’s about to decline but whatever is going to come out of her mouth stops in its tracks, because like a shadow passing over him, the stranger’s face changes.“Nah, she’s good.”





	theirs

**Author's Note:**

> This fic fits into the current timeline of my other fics, so think of it following ‘you’ll learn’ but it also lines up directly after 2x08 if you need that context. 
> 
> Heed the explicit warning, my friends.

 

It feels a little silly to call this _their_ place, Beth knows, which is why it’s something she never says out loud…even to herself. Regardless, she feels the weight of that silent admission sit directly on her chest as she pushes her way through the crowd, trying to find a space at the bar that feels comfortable enough to sit.

She works her way into a seat near the corner, almost _too close_ to where she was sitting last time with Dean. The tables almost feel like they’re staring at her, into her back, judgmental with hooded eyes and critical tongues. Luckily, the bartender notices her easily and part of her hopes it has to do with her outfit. She’s trying to step out of her comfort zone—so unlike the dress she wore last time, a simple maroon polka dot that had enough buttons to cover her cleavage, she’s wearing a black number tonight with a low dip that exposes the top of her chest. Just a taste of milky white skin, enough for a double-take. It’s form fitting and comfortable which breeds her confidence into feeling sexy as she adjusts herself on the stool and orders her usual.

Beth drums her fingers onto the bar, letting her eyes slip closed a moment as she listens to the loud music where the bass starts to etch its way into her bones. Her eyes open as the bartender sets her drink on the bar and before she can open her purse to give him her card, a crisp twenty slides onto the wood from over her shoulder.

“Whiskey, neat.” Rio says and the bartender nods quickly, picking up the cash and moving down the bar to pour his drink.

He hovers a moment, pressed against her back, the heat of his body working into the pores of her skin to the point where it feels like a warm blanket is being wrapped around her. An overwhelming scent of cologne mixed with laundry detergent and something distinctly his skin fills her lungs as Rio slides into the bar stool next to her.

He’s wearing a black t-shirt tonight but always black jeans and she bites her tongue on giving him an amusing comment about owning any light-wash ‘dad’ jeans. He adjusts himself on the stool, his elbows leaning against the edge of the bar, turning his gaze on her. He’s about to say something, she can see his mouth open but he stops and just stares.

His eyes wash over her like a cool stream, taking in every one of her curves in the fabric of the dress she has on. Beth feels heat bubble under her skin because every time he looks at her like that it feels like his _hands_ are touching parts of her body, dipping, grabbing, caressing.

He always makes her feel like she’s under some sort of magnifying glass, squirming under the scrutiny.

Dean’s never looked at her the way Rio does.

Beth clears her throat and sits a little further up in her seat, a pleasant flush working its way down the back of her neck. Despite the pressure of his gaze, she’s not about to deny that it feels nice to be _looked_ at.

“I could have paid for my own drink.”

Rio shrugs, pulling another bill from his back pocket to hand the bartender as his drink slides towards him. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t pay for your first drink?”

She snorts out a sound that isn’t the most attractive, which just pulls the edges of Rio’s mouth up in amusement. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were serious about the whole ‘gentleman’ part.”

He picks up his whiskey, lips resting against the rim of his glass. “So, you come here often?” It’s asked so causally but he angles his body towards hers, his knee brushing along the outside of her thigh.

Beth’s hand curls around her glass of bourbon, her thumb dragging across the condensation near the bottom. The pads of her fingers are cold but it’s oddly refreshing compared to how her body is reacting to his proximity. There’s too many echoes of what this place represents for them, she can feel their history pressing against her body, bouncing like the resounding bass.

Sometimes she tries to reason with her attraction to Rio with circumstances; that it’s all about the rush of business, of trying new things, of finding something she’s actually _good_ at that isn’t crafting, taking care of her kids, or landing the head mom of the PTA board.

Her work is dangerous and addictive and the rush it gives her is intoxicating and…well. Isn’t that how it feels to be around Rio? He somehow lives in this shade of grey that pulls her in, like a black hole, all-encompassing.

It’s about the work, sure, but it’s also about something else. There’s a darker part of Beth that she didn’t realize was there, lying dormant, itching to reach out of her ribcage and swallow her whole. Dean looks at her sometimes like she's changed, like she's not the woman he married. Like she's capable of doing terrible things (and she has). That he doesn't trust her, doesn't love her the same way, as if she's lost a part of herself. She can see it in his eyes, the disappointment that swims there, the loss.

While Dean pushes that part of her away, Rio embraces it and makes her feel like she can accept it with open arms.

“How long are we supposed to wait on this client?” Beth asks instead of responding to his question, taking a sip of her bourbon as she looks around the bar, like they might suddenly appear.

She concentrates on what they’re here for and not the fact that Rio hasn’t changed the position of his body, his leg still pressed suggestively against her own.

He moves to slip his phone out of his back pocket, checking the time quickly before returning it to its place. There’s no commentary about how who they’re waiting on is late, past the ten minute mark.

“Until they show.” Which doesn’t answer her question but she has a feeling that he’s not in the mood to give her an exact time-frame. “You got somewhere else to be in that dress?” He’s not looking at her as he says it, instead his lips are against the rim of his glass, taking a slow sip of his whiskey.

She watches the action, licks her own lips, wonders if his mouth tastes like honey-infused hints from the alcohol.

“No,” Because she doesn’t, “But it’s polite to be punctual.”

Rio smirks and rolls his shoulders back, “I don’t think politeness is high on this client’s list of priorities.”

She’s not even sure what this meeting is about—washing cash, drugs, cars, transports; she’s dipped her hands in so many different pots. But she does appreciate him taking her seriously when she says she wants to be _partners_ in the sense of being involved.

“Do you know what they want?”

His jaw moves a little after he takes a sip of his whiskey, but she can’t tell if it’s from the strength of his drink or the continuous questions. She wants to say something about how she wouldn’t have to _ask_ so much if he’d just tell her but she’s not about to start an argument with him about their business in a crowded bar.

“Nah, but that’s kinda the whole point of a meeting.” He says, almost as if she’s slow on the uptake. “You’ve been to a few, figured you’d get how it works.”

“So he’s just going to show up and ask you for something? Never told you what it’s about?”

“She,” Rio corrects and Beth hates how that single syllable feels like a punch to the gut, “And no, didn’t wanna talk about it over the phone. But you’re actin’ like we haven’t met in this very same place where you’ve asked me for favors.”

She thinks about Boomer’s body and then she thinks about something else: their eyes meeting one another across the bar, her heart hammering in her chest as she plays with the ends of her hair, asking Rio a question so clear with her eyes before she disappeared into that bathroom.

He had answered _yes_ by following her.

“This equation you’re tryin’ to solve ain’t that hard, ma,” Rio waves the bartender over and they fill up both of their drinks. “People who are willin’ to pay have my attention.”

A dozen other questions bubble to the surface of her skin, _how far are you willing to go? When do you stop? Isn’t there a line you won’t cross? Who’s the woman? Is it the same one from the parking lot? The one you embraced? How many ‘favors’ have you done for her before?_ And yet none of those leave her mouth.

She stops herself by taking a large sip of her bourbon, almost too quickly, a soft cough leaving her lips afterwards. Beth runs a hand over her one cheek, feels the heat of alcohol starting to kiss her skin as it lazily swirls through her system.  

That shade of grey is tantalizing until she can’t figure out where she stands with him; where she _wants_ to stand.

His gaze is on her again, she can feel it, eyes traveling over the side of her body as she takes another sip of bourbon. When she looks at him, her lips still against the glass, Rio squints at her—almost as if he’s trying to read words directly from her skin.

He opens his mouth to say something and then closes it. Before, “What’s goin’ on with your face?”

Beth blinks and her hand touches her cheek again, setting her drink on the bar. “What face?”

“ _That_ face.” He points with his one finger as he holds his whiskey. She quickly tries to figure out what he means; does she have lipstick smeared on her chin or something? It doesn’t seem like he’s trying to tease her but his voice is amused, “You look like you’re suckin’ on a lemon.”

Oh my god. Instantly her mouth snaps closed like a Venus fly trap. “I do _not_ have a face.”

A light laugh tumbles out of Rio’s mouth, something she’s only ever heard once before and that’s when they were sitting on her picnic table talking about her _panties_ being stuffed into Dean’s mouth.

Rio just holds her gaze a moment, expects her to buckle but when she doesn’t, he shrugs his one shoulder. “So you don’t got a problem with me meeting other women for business?”

She wishes that the bar was tall enough that she could crawl under it. This is the exact reaction that Ruby and Annie didn’t believe when she told them that she couldn’t care less who Rio slept with, that she didn’t care if she was a side piece or whoever was a piece of…something. She needs another bourbon.

Beth huffs out a sound and waves the bartender down again for another refill, this time being able to pay for it before Rio can pull his wallet out.  

“I don’t care _what_ you meet other women for.”

He smiles and tips the rest of his whiskey back into his mouth, “Alright.” Rio shakes his head at the bartender for another refill and moves to take his phone out of his back pocket because someone is calling him, probably the client, the _woman,_ they’re waiting on. “I gotta take this.”

He slides off the stool and brushes his hand along her shoulder as he answers his phone, his other hand going to his ear to block out the noise. Beth turns and watches him, the bar too loud for him to hear the call clearly so he walks towards the exit.

Good. She needs a few minutes to pull herself together. Her hand rests along her forehead before she takes another sip of her drink, closer to being tipsy than she wanted to be but she doesn’t hate the fluttering warmth that’s filling her up; toes to head.

Beth licks her lips, leaning against the bar, her eyes defaulting to people watching as Rio takes his phone call. The client must be canceling on him or maybe reconsidering what she’s _asking_ him for. Either way, something unpleasant uncurls in her stomach at the thought. Her fingers tap along to the song overhead and a reminiscent smile plays with the edges of her mouth as she sees a few dart boards past the end of the bar.

It’s mostly college kids, having fun, drinking too much and laughing too loud…carefree in a way she hasn’t felt in a long time. So when she notices a board opening up, she figures _why the fuck not_ and grabs her purse along with her almost finished bourbon and wanders towards it. Her hips sway to the music absentmindedly as she picks up a few darts underneath the board and plays with them between her fingers before chewing on her lower lip.

“Well, here goes nothing.” She mumbles, positions herself a few feet away and aims.

Beth is just as terrible as she remembers and the alcohol probably doesn’t help. She moves to pull the darts from the outside of the bullseye and, she winces, one isn’t even _on_ the corkboard because it’s wedged into the wall. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.

“You’re choking the dart.”

She turns at the voice, her one hand smoothing down the front of her dress as the other loosely holds onto the darts. She’s met with a pair of soft green eyes and a head of blonde hair. He’s probably a little younger than her but not by much and he’s dressed in a gently pressed blue button down with dark jeans. He’s handsome, to say the least and she feels her cheeks flush the softest of pinks.

She wasn’t going to try again but…the phrase that this stranger is saying to her is so odd that she has to ask. “What do you mean?”

“Oh it’s…” He walks up to her and holds out his hand, “May I?”

Beth hands him one of the darts and moves away from the board, leaning against the tall table where she’s set her glass. She takes a sip as she watches him line himself up, a breath leaving his mouth before he draws his hand back and throws.

A perfect bullseye. She laughs, caught off guard, slowly clapping her hands. He grins at her, going to pull the dart off the board before handing it back to her. “I was watching you, uh, not to sound like _that_ but,” His flustered shyness is almost cute, “You just have to…”

He models with his own hand, showing her how to hold the dart so she’s not ‘choking’ the end closest to the needle. So she moves her fingers back a few, aims and throws. She doesn’t hit the bullseye but her aim has greatly improved. She grins at him, nodding her head before tossing a few more darts in the way he’s demonstrated.

“That’s quite a trick.” Beth admits, finishing her bourbon.

The guy licks his lips and sticks his hands in his pockets, his body closer to her own than she realized before. His hand moves to lean against the table and brushes along her hip, “Can I buy you another drink?”

She’s about to decline but whatever is going to come out of her mouth stops in its tracks, because like a shadow passing over him, the stranger’s face changes.

“Nah, she’s good.”

Beth can sense Rio’s body before she sees him coming up beside her, his voice dark and deep in a way that sends a shiver right down her spine. The intentions are clear and he doesn’t have to say anything else before this guy is backing up with a soft ‘sorry’ and turning on his heel to leave.

His jaw clenches, his eyes the color of melted chocolate as he rounds to face her. There’s something odd about his expression, a look she’s never seen before, wild, unruly and biting too hard on the inside of his cheek to say anything for a moment.

Then, “Something came up. The client had to change her meeting to tomorrow night,” He’s not quite looking at her, instead his eyes are glancing _around_ her, his hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. “But it don't really concern you.”

He’s struggling, she can see that, right on that tight-rope of barely contained anger that she always seems to have him on. He’s fighting one emotion while feeling another and while she doesn’t want to press… “If it's tomorrow night I want to be here.” She straightens her posture and takes a deep breath through her nose to try and clear the warm fog that’s built up in her head from the bourbon. “Dean's with the kids at his mother's anyways.”

Rio moves to walk past her, talking over his shoulder. “Oh I wouldn't want to pull you from another dart game with Abercrombie.”

The cool indifference that shouldn’t surprise her anymore catches her off guard and all she can do is stand there, her mouth falling open as she watches him start to move through the crowd towards the front door. When she finally uproots her feet, she stumbles after him, gaining her footing and matching his speed until they’re outside.

Beth grabs a hold of the back of his shirt and manages to stop him when they hit the parking lot, almost to where his car his parked. “ _Excuse_ me?”

He slips out of her grasp and turns to look at her, “What part are you havin’ trouble with?”

“For starters? How about we start with you patronizing me.”

She can maybe understand his annoyance with her not waiting at the bar for him; he could have come back with their client and she was playing darts with a stranger. But this? Over something so simple when the client rescheduled and he’s questioning her _integrity_? She feels like they’ve been pushed back to square one when he talks to her like that; like it’s the first time she’s met him and he has a gun in her face asking where his money is.

He shakes his head and reaches into his pocket, digging for his car keys, “Look, I was under the impression that you wanted 50/50, that whole partner thing you’re always naggin’ me about. If you can’t take a meeting seriously then why the fuck should I invite you to ‘em.”

Beth feels like her eyes might quite literally bulge out of her head, a shocked noise leaving her throat because _what the fuck?_ “You mean the same meeting that didn’t even happen because she _canceled on us?”_

Rio scoffs, looking away from her and pulling his keys out, unlocking the car before he pockets them again. “Besides the point.”

It takes her a moment, the gears slowly clicking into place because it’s the _exact_ same thing she was feeling an hour ago.

_“I don’t care_ what _you meet other women for.”_

_He smiles and tips the rest of his whiskey back into his mouth, “Alright.”_

Beth nearly sputters before she can get the words out because the emotion doesn’t feel like it fits on him, his anger and pettiness all of a sudden making sense. The press of his body against the bar, the way he’d nearly towered over her as he approached the stranger in the bar, how he slips on another mask to hide the one he’s currently got on.

“You’re _jealous_.”

He pauses then and turns to look at her, not amused, “Don’t pull that shit with me, I’m not your dumbass husband.”

But she’s _right,_ she knows she’s right. It has nothing to do with the client, or the canceled meeting, her dedication to her work with him or how she handles herself at meetings. It has _everything_ to do with that guy standing too close and offering to buy her a drink.

Beth feels herself testing the limits, slipping into those deep waters as she takes a step closer to him into his space, something they’ve always seemed to do with one another. Rio glances down at her, his eyes tracing over her mouth, her cleavage dipping into her little black dress, the heat of her body suddenly caressing his own even though they haven’t touched.

She finds herself tearing a page out of his book to call him out on his own bullshit. “Is it really so hard for you to admit something like that?”

His body language changes almost instantly, snaps like a rubber band, suddenly cold and sharp and all angles like a block of jagged ice. He’s bristling; she's exposed something, has tried to pull his skin back and _look_ when he works so hard at keeping her at a distance.

And because he feels like he's being backed into a corner, Rio goes for the jugular, using their proximity to look down on her. “You think because I yank your panties down and fuck you against a bathroom wall that it somehow makes you special?”

His words hurt more than she thought they could; she doesn’t want to give them that much power but it’s hard, they dig between her nerves and fester like an open sore. She swallows, almost taking a step back from him but she refuses to give him the satisfaction.

“You knew I’d be there that night and you knew I’d follow you, darlin’. I could sense that desperation of yours from across the room—”

He barely gets the last word out before Beth’s hand cracks across his face, her fingers stinging with the force of her hit and static electricity fills the air. Rio’s head barely moves but his hand does come up to rub at the bottom of his chin, his jaw working like it does when he has to enact incredible restraint.

He looks at her, once, before grabbing her chin rough and _hard_ and whatever direction she thinks this is going to go it shifts out from under her like someone grabbing a rug and _yanking_ because he’s kissing her.

Rio kisses her, his touch bruising and his lips hot, all teeth and his arm is wrapping around her waist and pulling her none-to-gently against his chest. A strangled noise emits from her throat but she’s not pushing him away, it’s when his hips press against her own that she realizes it was a _moan_ emptying into his mouth. Heat uncurls from somewhere deep inside her body and before she can pull back to breathe, he’s clasping her jaw and tilting her head so that his lips can reach her neck.

Her breathing quickens, her body finally being able to _move_ as she pushes him back against his car, his other hand falling to her waist to steady them. She tries to reason with herself that this shouldn’t happen, his cruel words echoing in her head even as she pulls the car door open and pushes him into the backseat.

Rio adjusts them quickly, helping her close the car door as she straddles his waist. He leans up, not giving her a moment to think, to reconsider, to pull away, and kisses her again. Beth feels herself slip into his vortex, that same black hole that seems to surround her when she’s with him, yanking her into its gravity.

His hard cock presses again the inside of her thigh and the sensation ricochets in her midsection, heat pulsing in a way where it almost feels too overwhelming, like she can’t breathe. When they pull back, Beth’s forehead falls against his shoulder as his hand slips between them and he opens his mouth to say something.

She can feel it, the way his diaphragm expands, so she locks eyes with him in the dim lit car and shakes her head.

He licks his lips, his one hand cupping her cheek while the other undoes his jeans and tugs her panties aside. When she feels him slip in, her head falls back and exposes her throat. Rio makes a noise deep in his chest, his hand moving to clasp the back of her neck to give himself leverage, Beth sinking down against him as her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

There’s lipstick stains on Rio’s lips, the side of his mouth, a crushed peach color that she can’t help but run her thumb over. She picks up the pace as she rolls her hips and she’s suddenly thinking about how the roles are reversed; how he had lifted her leg against his waist and pushed her against the bathroom wall to fuck her, her arms _grabbing and yanking_ at him as she quickly met her climax.

That’s not this time. This time it’s her body pressing into his, Rio’s knees bending ever so slightly in the small space of the backseat, his hand tight on the back of her neck while the other squeezes at her waist. It’s rough and primal just as she remembers—too much heat and fire to keep the flame burning for long before they both sizzle out.  

It’s quick for both of them to barrel towards their end; Beth’s body nearly leaning back on her own accord as she gets closer and closer. Rio’s hand squeezes her hip, thumb digging into the bone there, a series of drawn out moans as she cums. When she clenches around him, he’s not far behind, his eyes squeezing shut and a shuddered groan echoing against the roof of the car.

Beth falls forward, her hands supporting herself against the door, gentle panting leaving her lungs as Rio quickly slips out of her. He sits up and grabs her by her waist, shuffling her to the other side of the car so they can both sit comfortably.

She closes her eyes and swallows, doesn’t watch him clean himself up even though she knows that’s what he’s doing as she pulls her underwear back into place. Her dress is still hiked up around her thighs, something she won’t be able to fix because the fabric is twisted until she gets out of the car. She smooths a hand down her face as her breathing returns to normal, her heartbeat no longer hammering in her ears and shifts against the seat.

Beth winces, her side sore from where Rio’s hand was, wonders if there’s thumb-shaped bruises left behind in his wake.

Rio must see her because he turns, just a little, his shoulder resting against the leather of the seat as he reaches across and gently tugs her dress up. Sure enough there are red marks kissing the white of her skin.

“You upset about this?” He asks, voice rough in all the right places, his thumb brushing along the top of a mark near the lace of her underwear.

She considers what he’s really asking for a moment and regardless of what they’ve just done and how sated she feels, the same heat curls up in her belly as Rio’s eyes look into her own. “No.”

He hums and leans down, pressing a kiss against one of them before pulling back, helping her adjust her dress where it should be. Beth curls her hair around her ear before opening up the passenger car door to get out; her knees are shaking and her skin is sticky with sweat but there’s still leftover pleasure rolling through her veins like a summer breeze.

Rio exits the car too, closing the door and leaning his forearms on top of the hood to look at her before his gaze slips away. He chews on his lower lip, “Meeting’s at 9 tomorrow. She’ll show this time.”

Beth moves to put her purse over her shoulder like a satchel; back to business as usual. “Here?”

“Dealership.”

She straightens her back and thinks for a moment; with Dean strong-arming her interactions with her kids, she should be able to make it to the dealership tomorrow with no problems. She’ll talk to him during the day, try to reason with him or at least come together on a plan—because it can’t be what she’s doing right now.

An empty house mixed with Dean being passive aggressive isn’t a solution.

“Tomorrow then.” Beth tells him, starting to feel a bone-aching tired fill her body up—she wants to go home, drink half a bottle of wine and take a scalding hot shower.

Rio nods his head and before she can turn around to leave, he calls out to her, “It’s almost too bad.”

She frowns, her one hand playing with the strap of her purse. “What is?”

“That Dean won't know what those marks are from.”

She feels her cheeks heat up, the impression he's left behind on her skin feeling like it's about to burn a hole through the fabric of her dress.

His face tilts a little in amusement, that slow smile that she knows like the back of her hand tugging at the corners of his mouth. Rio opens up the door, hovering a moment as he says, “Goodnight, Elizabeth.” And slips into the driver’s seat.

The engine starts with a low hum and while Beth wants to walk to her van, she can’t help but feel rooted into place, watching the sleek black of his car disappear out of the parking lot.

She can hear his voice in the back of her mind, the way it echoed into the car dealership not too long ago.

_"You didn't tell him yet? Come on, ma, it's too good."_

Her hand falls absently to her side, fingers brushing the fabric of her dress against the bruises forming from his touch.

No, Dean won’t know. This is just hers.

_Theirs._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always taking fic requests at my tumblr: blainesebastian.tumblr.com/ask  
> Thanks for reading + if you leave kudos or a review :)


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